


I Sailed A Boat Into The Past

by lucdarling



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Community: ccbingo, Gen, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint lets Phil sleep as long as possible. You can only run on adrenaline and fear so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Sailed A Boat Into The Past

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfills the "watching each other sleep" square on my Clint/Coulson bingo card.  
> Title taken from The Nationals' song _Terrible Love_.

Clint steadies the rifle against the windowsill, the ground below lit up in green from the night vision scope. He scans the empty street, looking for any sign of movement. Thankfully, there is nothing and there hasn't been for the past hour.

The marksman turns his head to look at his partner. “You can sleep, I'll take first watch.” Phil grumbles but doesn't protest much. Clint smirks to himself as Phil lays down on the couch, ubiquitous suit jacket folded underneath his head as a poor man's pillow. He knows Phil has been awake for at least 36 hours, trying to coordinate the quarantine parameters as S.H.I.E.L.D. slowly takes back the city.

The older man's face slowly slackens as he falls deeper into sleep, exhaustion pulling him under. Phil doesn't stir at the sound of the door or Bucky and Natasha sliding into the room with silent feet and wet boots. Clint keeps his rifle at the ready because that's his job tonight, though he lifts his head to check on Phil every so often. The woman crosses the room and crouches down next to Clint as Bucky goes to clean their weapons.

“See anything?” She smells like cordite and smoke. Clint bets the flash he saw on the horizon to the east as the sun went down was them.

“It's pretty quiet tonight.” Clint admits, reaching out to knock softly on the wooden edge of the window just in case of a jinx. Fate seems to have a way of kicking them in the teeth, it seems. Phil murmurs indistinctly and Clint turns his head to look at him.

The man has rucked up the blanket Clint put over top of him, frown lines marring his forehead as he dreams of _before_. It's the only thing that causes Phil to look like that in sleep, which is the only time he's able to find peace when the sun's down. Clint leaves the rifle and lookout post to the redhead and goes to Phil. Sometimes life isn't fair but Clint has noticed that his voice tends to get Phil's nightmare to abate the slightest bit.

“Hey now, rest easy. You're fine, the fighting's stopped.” Clint soothes, running his hand over shoulders knotted with tension. Phil slowly relaxes into sleep again.

“It ain't ever gonna be over,” Bucky's voice drifts like smoke from the corner of the room. The metal arm glints faintly in the weak light and Clint gives him the finger. Bucky chuckles. “You know it too but hey, whatever helps you sleep at night, kid.”

“Stop it, both of you.” Natasha hisses. Her finger moves from the trigger guard to the trigger, squeezing smoothly. Clint and Bucky are both on their feet instantly at the sound of the shot, standing behind her and watching from behind the boarded window. Something cries out in the darkness, wounded. Natasha fires again and Phil stirs on the couch. Clint shoots him a look; he really wishes the other man had been able to sleep a bit longer because the circles underneath his eyes are terrible and dark but there's no time for wishes now.

They're coming.


End file.
